


Becoming Real

by iwillnotbecaged



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Character, Empathy, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Polyamory, Sam-Centric, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-21 00:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10674357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillnotbecaged/pseuds/iwillnotbecaged
Summary: Sam ends up with mind-reading powers, and it's terribly inconvenient.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl/gifts).



> For the Fandom Trumps Hate fic auction. Thanks to Morgan for bidding on me - I hope you find it satisfying!

_"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"_

_"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."_

_"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit._

_"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."_

\- _The Velveteen Rabbit_ by Margery Williams 

* * *

Sam wondered when he was ever gonna actually catch a break.

Corrupt politicians, secret Nazis, murderous robots, more corrupt politicians, vengeful terrorists, underwater prisons — and now, aliens. And sure, Steve had dealt with aliens before, but Sam hadn’t, and he had really been looking forward to a relaxing night on his couch, watching basketball and recovering from the work week.

He didn’t regret throwing in his lot with Steve, not really; it was just...a lot. He’d finally given into Steve’s pleading and transferred to New York, but he’d refused to give up his job and had gotten his own place rather than move into the Tower with Steve and Bucky. He’d been doing a decent job of balancing the VA and Avengering so far, but there had been more missions lately and things had started piling up.

Thankfully these aliens weren’t actually trying to destroy the world. Their three-man team had come in ready for a fight when they got the call, but it turned out to just be an intergalactic misunderstanding: the Ukuba had been looking for a place to raise their livestock and hadn’t realized that Earth was already populated. 

Eventually the alien in charge had established a telepathic connection and explained the situation, but not before one of their space cows had spewed slime all over Sam. It was going to take him forever to clean all the sticky goo out of his wings.

He stomped up the ramp into the quinjet and took off his wingpack. He resisted the temptation to throw it onto the floor — he loved it too much to risk damaging it — and settled for throwing himself into a seat with a huff.

“God, I’m tired.” Bucky was a few seats down, disassembling the rifle he hadn’t needed to use.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam said.

“Huh?” Bucky turned toward him.

“I said ‘me too,’” Sam repeated.

His brow furrowed. “You too what?”

“You said you were tired, and I was agreeing with you.”

“I never said I was tired.”

Sam shook his head. “Okay, whatever, man.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, too tired to deal with whatever game Bucky was playing.

“Well, someone’s in a mood today.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m in a mood! I’m tired and stressed and covered in alien slime! Forgive me if I don’t feel like putting up with your bullshit at the moment.”

Steve came up the ramp just in time to catch the end of his outburst.

“What’s going on?”

“I have no idea,” Bucky said, slouching in his seat. “I was just sitting here minding my own business when Sam started talking to himself and got all pissed off.”

“Minding your own business? You were talking to me and I answered you.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You two are ridiculous.”

“I didn’t!” Bucky protested. “I think you need to get your hearing checked, Wilson.”

Sam responded with a rude hand gesture.

Steve sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “They are children. Actual children.”

“Barnes for sure is.”

Steve looked up at him. “Barnes for sure is what?”

“A child. You just said it.”

A line appeared between Steve’s eyebrows. “Sam, I didn’t say anything. Are you okay?”

“Not you too,” Sam groaned, leaning his head back against the wall behind him and looking up at the ceiling. “I am seriously not up for dealing with you assholes and your trolling today.”

“He’s not trolling you,” Bucky chimed in. “He really didn’t say anything.”

Sam looked back at Steve then, his sad puppy eyes filled with worry. “What’s going on? Did something happen to him? If something’s wrong with him…”

Steve’s voice rang in his head clear as a bell, but his mouth didn’t move.

“Oh no. _Hell_ no. This is not happening.”

_What’s he talking about?_

“What do you mean?” Steve’s question echoed his thoughts.

“I can hear what you’re thinking.”

_Oh shit._

“Yeah, you too, Barnes.”

Steve’s mind whirred so quickly Sam only got bits and pieces.

“It must be the telepathic connection from the Ukuba. The leader ended it, but maybe there are residual effects?”

“Then why can’t you two hear me? Or each other?”

“And how long is it going to last?” Bucky asked. _Please not forever_.

“I’m not sure. Maybe the serum makes us more resistant to it? Or made the connection wear off faster?” _Maybe Thor knows something about it._

Sam sighed and sunk back into his seat. He tried to distract himself by thinking about the group sessions at the VA he needed to prepare for when he got back. He needed to cover Cara’s session to pay her back for covering his own, he still had that stack of paperwork that needed to be filed by the end of the week, and he should really check up on Julian. He’d been having a rough time and had missed the last couple of sessions.

 _Wait a minute_ … Steve’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

“Sam, what were you thinking of just now?”

“I was thinking about work.”

Steve nodded. “That makes sense — I could feel your stress. Bucky, could you feel it?” He paused. “Wait...why are you afraid?”

Sam shifted his attention to Bucky, who glared at him.

 _Stay out of my head, Wilson_.

Sam put his hands up. “Trust me, I want to.”

“Nothing for you to worry about, Steve.” Bucky looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. “You punk. We’re over here freaking out, and you’re just feeling excited.”

“Well, it’s cool! Come on, Buck. An empathic connection? Or telepathic? Whatever it is. It’s straight out of one of your pulps.”

“Our whole lives are straight out of the pulps, asshole,” Bucky said dryly. 

Steve shrugged sheepishly. “At least this isn’t hurting anyone.”

 _Yet._ Bucky sighed, then pointedly started thinking Taylor Swift lyrics.

“Steve, can you go fly the plane? I’d like to get back to the Tower and see if we can figure out how long I’m gonna have to be inside your heads.”

 _Oops._ “Sure, Sam. Don’t worry — we’ll figure it out.” Steve squeezed his shoulder and dropped a kiss onto the only spot on his forehead that wasn’t covered in slime before heading into the cockpit, leaving Sam in the back of the quinjet with Bucky. 

“I’m gonna try to sleep. Don’t make me dream anything weird.”

_No promises._

“Asshole.”

 

They were able to videoconference with Thor shortly after getting back to the Tower and cleaning up, and he assured them that the connection would most likely wear off in a few days. He agreed with their assumption that the reason Sam could hear actual thoughts while Steve and Bucky only got feelings was because of the serum.

“This isn’t an unheard-of side effect of interspecies telepathic connections. It’s essentially an echo that will eventually wear off. Sam will likely hear less and less as the days pass, until the thoughts fade into feelings, and then dissipate completely. The shared emotions that you and Bucky are currently experiencing should fade soon as well.”

“Thanks, Thor.”

“So uh, is there any way to keep Sam from hearing what we’re thinking until then?” Bucky asked. “I kinda like my privacy.”

“And I would like to stop having Taylor Swift stuck in my head,” Sam agreed.

Thor considered the question. “To an extent, perhaps. From what you described, your connection is functioning much like a background process on a computer. It’s always running as long as you’re near each other, but unless you are focusing on it, you should be able distract yourselves with other things. Particularly strong emotions or thoughts will mostly likely still come through, however.”

Sam nodded. “Well, that’s something at least. Thanks again.”

Thor smiled. “It’s my pleasure.”

Thor ended the call, and there was an awkward silence where everyone seemed to be trying not to think.

“I’m gonna go...somewhere that’s not here,” Bucky finally said, grabbing his gear. He smirked at Sam on his way out of the conference room. _Cause the haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate…_

“Shut _up!_ ” Sam shouted after him, but Bucky just laughed.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you ever gonna give in and admit you don’t actually hate him?”

“Ugh, this again?” Sam rolled his eyes. “I _do_ hate him. This is not pigtail-pulling; this is deep-seated and completely justified annoyance and resentment.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” He guided Sam into the hallway with a hand at the small of his back. _Funny — it’s almost like he actually believes that. Saying “I told you so” is gonna be so much fun._

“I can hear you, you know.”

“I know.” Steve gave him his best Captain America smile. They paused at the elevator. “You gonna come up for a bit?” _Please say yes._

Sam stepped closer, arms slipping around Steve’s waist. “Hmmmm, maybe. What’s in it for me?”

Steve’s hands slid up his arms and around his neck. “Well, we’ve got really good food here. And I had J.A.R.V.I.S. record the basketball game when we got called away. Oh yeah, and there’s this too…” 

Steve leaned in to kiss him, slow and deep and wet, fingernails scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. When Sam finally pulled back, Steve’s eyes were dark and full of promise. 

“Well, I guess I could stay for a bit. You did record the game, after all.” He kissed Steve again and reached behind him to press the button for the elevator.

 

Steve was splayed across the bed panting, sweat glistening on his flushed skin. Sam finished wiping him up and flopped down on top of him.

Steve grunted in protest, but wrapped an arm around Sam and pulled him in. “Well, that mind-reading ability of yours is definitely not totally inconvenient.”

Sam chuckled against Steve’s chest and nuzzled in closer. 

“You want anything tonight?” Steve asked, his fingers trailing up and down Sam’s back.

Sam considered for a moment. “No, I’m good. Just this.” He tilted his head just enough to meet Steve’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Steve leaned down to kiss him. “Always.”

He spent a few more minutes soaking up Steve’s warmth, then got up and began to hunt for his clothes.

“You headed back to your place?” Steve leaned up on one elbow, looking attractively debauched with the sheets pooling around him artfully. It wasn’t the first time Sam was tempted to just abandon all semblance of boundaries and stay.

“Yeah. Gotta make sure it’s still in one piece. I never got a chance to go home between that thing in Arizona and the mess with the Ukuba, so who knows what my asshole landlord has done in the meantime.” He pulled his shirt on and grabbed his shoes. “Plus my bed is more comfortable than yours.”

“And I know how much you need your beauty sleep,” Steve said, a teasing smile on his face. _I wish I knew how comfortable his bed is._

Sam paused, then continued putting his shoes back on, answering Steve’s words instead of his thoughts. “Oh, I’m plenty beautiful. I just need to be well-rested in order to put up with your dumb ass.”

Steve crawled up behind him where he sat on the edge of the bed and kissed him behind the ear, arms wrapping around his chest. Sam brought a hand up to Steve’s forearm.

“You love my ass.” 

Sam laughed, and turned to kiss him. “It’s a little small, but it’ll do.”

Steve just shook his head at him, then kissed him again, soft and sweet. “You know you can stay, right?” His voice was soft, like Sam was a wild animal he was trying to put at ease. _God, I wish he would stay._

Sam didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I know.” 

He didn’t say more, and Steve didn’t press. Sam finished tying his shoes and stood up. He turned and leaned over the bed, giving Steve one more lingering kiss. He cupped Steve’s face in one hand, his thumb brushing his cheekbone gently. “Good night, Steve.”

Steve kissed his hand, and Sam turned and left. 

_Good night, Sam. Sleep well._

 

By the time Sam made it uptown, he was dead on his feet. He trudged up the stairs to his third-floor apartment and groaned when he saw something stuck to his door. He fished his keys out of his pocket and then tore down the notice, allowing himself to drop his bag by the door. He’d put it away in a minute.

He flicked on the kitchen light and got a glass of water before turning back to read whatever it was that had been left on his door. 

Fuck. They were fumigating the building. Tomorrow. He had to be out by 8:00, and wouldn’t be able to get back in until Friday. Perfect.

Sam ran through his options. He’d crashed on Laila’s couch before, but she’d just updated her relationship status on Facebook and her new girlfriend probably wouldn’t appreciate the ex hanging around. He was always welcome at Sarah’s, but the commute would kill him and as much as he loved Jody, he really didn’t have the energy to share space with a three-year-old at the moment.

Which left the Tower. It was basically the same distance from the VA as his apartment, and it wasn’t like space was an issue. Hell, Stark would probably give him his own suite if he wanted. He considered the idea for a moment, but he couldn’t do that to Steve. Refusing to stay the night when he had his own home was one thing; staying in the same building as Steve but not actually with him was something else entirely.

He sighed, leaning his elbows on the counter and rubbing his temples. If this had happened any other week, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. He could maybe even convince himself that it was a good thing, a sort of trial run for the future. But with Bucky still living down the hall and this damn telepathic connection they had going on? This could turn out to be an unmitigated disaster.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam didn’t even get a chance to knock before Steve yanked open the door, bouncing around like a hyperactive golden retriever. Steve gave him a kiss and grabbed his bag, pulling it and him into the apartment.

“I’m trying not to be too obviously excited about this because I know you’re upset about being forced out of your home, but I’m really really excited you’re here.”

Sam laughed. “Even if you were being chill, I can hear your thoughts, remember? I’m perfectly aware of just how thrilled you are.”

Steve dropped his bag on the floor, pulled him into his arms, and kissed him again. _I really am. I like having you around._ “How was work?”

“Not bad. I was able to get in touch with Julian, finally.” Sam looped his arms around Steve’s waist, breathing him in.

“Yeah? Everything okay?” 

“According to him. Says he got a job at a warehouse in the Bronx and the commute is what kept him from making it to the sessions.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “You’re still worried, though.” Sam started to shake his head, but Steve interrupted. “Don’t try to brush it off; I may not be able to hear your thoughts, but I can tell what you feel, remember?”

“Yeah, okay, I’m still worried. The job is a good thing, but he doesn’t have a ton of support. I don’t want him to fall through the cracks.”

Steve’s arms tightened around him and Sam let himself melt into the embrace. “So you’ll do what you can to help him stay connected. Just remember that you can’t fill in all the cracks by yourself. That’s too much weight for any one person.”

Sam snorted. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Steve laughed. “Hey, I’m learning! I actually go to my therapy sessions now.” _I want to be better. You make me want to be better_.

Sam tensed and pulled back, hoping Steve wouldn’t feel the shift too clearly. “So, you got dinner all ready and waiting for me, sweetheart? Or am I going to have to wait for takeout?” He left Steve near the door and went into the kitchen. There were a bunch of styrofoam containers waiting on the counter.

Steve came up behind him. “Well, it’s takeout, but you don’t have to wait for it. I figured you’d appreciate it more than if I tried to cook for you.”

“You’re not wrong. I love you, but you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a kitchen.”

Steve wrapped his arms around him again and kissed the back of his neck. “You love me, huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “This is not news, Steven.”

He could feel Steve’s grin against his skin. “Maybe not, but I like hearing it.” _I love you, too. So much._

“Alright, alright, let me go.” Sam extricated himself from Steve’s octopus grip. “I’m starving.”

Sam filled a plate and took it into the living room. He grabbed the remote and found a basketball game on TV. His bed may have been more comfortable than Steve’s, but he had to admit that Stark hadn’t skimped on any of the technology in the Tower. He was pretty sure the level of definition on this TV wasn’t even available in the general market yet.

Steve sat next to him and handed him a beer. They ate together in comfortable silence, enjoying their food and watching the game. Sam did his best to focus on the game and not on whatever Steve was thinking, but eventually Bucky’s name caught his attention.

“Where is Bucky tonight?”

“Not sure,” Steve answered. “He left when you texted you were on your way over, said he didn’t want to be in your way.” _Probably just didn’t want to be close enough for you to hear how he — fuck, Sam can hear you, don’t think about that. Something else, something else…_

Sam laughed at Steve’s inner monologue. “Man, now I’m curious. You sure you don’t want to think about it?”

“I’m sure. What’s in his head is his business.” Steve wasn’t laughing. In fact, he was giving Sam his Captain-America-is-very-disappointed-in-you face. _Bucky’s had more than enough of other people poking around in his head._

Sam put his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, I get that. I feel kinda bad putting him out of his own place, though.”

Steve’s face softened. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It was his choice. He’ll come back when he’s ready, or crash with Natasha or something.”

“Him and Natasha — is that a thing?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t really know. I think it’s more that they understand each other in ways that no one else can. Similar life experiences, you know?”

Steve gave him a sheepish smile, thinking back to the time he first tried to ask Sam out on an actual date, hands crammed into his pockets like he didn’t know what they were for, stammering about those same similar life experiences. _I can’t believe he actually said yes to that_.

Sam reached over and rubbed the back of Steve’s neck. “Aww, don’t be so hard on yourself. It wasn’t _that_ bad. The awkwardness was actually really endearing. And it was pretty flattering to realize I had the power to make a national icon blush like that.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but then his face got that look that always told Sam he was thinking something sappy. Only this time he could actually hear it.

_You never saw me as just a national icon._

Steve sighed. “You just heard that, didn’t you?”

Sam grinned. “Yes, yes I did.”

“Well, it’s true. You saw me when no one else really did.”

Sam’s heart swelled, but his gut clenched at the same time. “Not no one. You had Natasha. And Nick.”

Steve took his hand, tracing the lines of his palm with a finger. “Yeah, but you were different. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just that, when I met you, I finally started to feel...real, I guess.”

That surprised him a bit. “Not when you realized Bucky was alive?”

Steve hummed in response. “That helped a lot too, sure. Having someone who knew me before, that’s well, that’s important. But even before him, before everything with SHIELD — you asked me what made me happy. You made me look at myself as an actual person.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that, so he just pulled Steve into a kiss. They kept it light and sweet for a while, but eventually the kiss deepened and Steve’s mind started going in all kinds of interesting directions.

Sam pulled back then, cupping Steve’s cheek in his hand. “I don’t think I’m up for all of that tonight.”

Steve turned into his hand and kissed his palm. “Alright. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Sam held his gaze for a moment, listening hesitantly for any underlying disappointment or resentment, but there was only sincerity in Steve’s mind. Sam was frustrated with himself for doubting; Steve had never given him any reason to think he would push for more than Sam wanted. Sure, he’d had to do a bit of ace-spec 101 back when they started all of this, but Steve had been nothing but understanding and respectful so far. 

He shook off the frustration, hopefully before it could worry Steve, and leaned in to kiss him again. “Thanks.”

“You want to finish the game, or just head to bed?”

He looked up and checked the score. It was a lopsided game and he wasn’t particularly invested in either of the teams. “Let’s just clean up and go to bed. I’ve got to get up early for work tomorrow anyway.”

Steve stood up and pulled Sam up after him. “Sounds like a plan.”

After a few goodnight kisses, Steve fell right to sleep, but Sam found himself lying awake, turning Steve’s words over and over in his head.

He was glad that Steve had felt like Sam saw him as a person from the beginning, but to be told that he was the one who made Steve feel real? That was a weighty thing to carry, and Sam couldn’t help wondering what would happen when he inevitably cracked under it.

 

Steve was already up and out for a run when Sam woke up early the next morning, even though he didn’t have anywhere he had to be. The man really didn’t understand the concept of sleeping in and being lazy. Sam showered and got dressed while still half asleep, then stumbled into the kitchen, pleased to find there was already coffee. He was less pleased to realize it was because Bucky was there. He was standing at the stove cooking a giant pan of eggs and humming something Sam didn’t recognize.

He looked up when Sam moved into his peripheral vision. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what a guy wants to hear first thing in the morning.”

Bucky shrugged. “You want some eggs?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “I do have manners, you know. You want some or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some. Thanks.” Sam finished fixing his coffee and grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet. A comfortable quiet settled over them, only interrupted by the scrape of the spatula and the soft hiss of the gas stove. 

“So I was thinking —” Bucky started, but Sam interrupted before he could get any further.

“Wait, you were? I couldn’t hear you. Has it worn off already?” Being in Steve and Bucky’s apartment wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t also have to be in their heads.

Bucky shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck with his metal hand, setting the pan of eggs on the kitchen island. “Um, probably not. I, uh, Natasha taught me how to control it a bit more. Apparently this is a thing that happens?”

“Ah, okay.” That made sense somehow; if someone he knew had experience with unwanted telepathic connections, he wasn’t surprised it was Natasha.

Bucky turned his attention back to the eggs, scraping them out onto the plates. “Yeah, I wish it was permanent, but at least it’s something. It’s kind of like meditation. I should be able to keep you from snooping around in my brain as long as I don’t get too stressed out or distracted.”

Sam took a plate. “Like I would want to dig around in the mess that is your head anyway, Barnes.”

“Yeah, it can get pretty rough in here sometimes.” Bucky’s voice was quiet and Sam looked up to see a wounded look on his face. Shit. 

“Aw, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Bucky nodded and looked at him sadly for a few more seconds, then burst into laughter. “You are _too_ easy! You shoulda seen your face — all worried that you’d upset the trauma victim with your weak insult.”

Sam threw a napkin at him. “You asshole!”

“Aw, come on! That was a good one!” Bucky shoveled some eggs into his mouth, then kept talking around them. “My therapist says humor can be a very useful coping mechanism.”

Sam shook his head. “Man, close your mouth. I thought you said you had manners.”

Bucky just grinned and kept chewing. They ate in silence for awhile before Sam remembered that Bucky had actually been about to tell him something before they got sidetracked.

“So what were you thinking earlier? Before I realized I couldn’t hear you?”

“Huh?” Bucky startled. “Oh, it was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” Sam took another bite. The eggs were actually really good — just the right amount of runny that he liked. “Do you think you could teach Steve what Natasha taught you?”

“What are we teaching me?” Steve asked, coming into the kitchen and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. The asshole was barely even sweating, even though he had probably run at least ten miles.

“Natasha showed Bucky how to control the whole mind-reading thing.”

“Not completely,” Bucky added. “But enough.”

“I’m sure he or Natasha could teach you, too.”

Steve shrugged. “I’m okay. It’ll wear off soon enough and I don’t really mind it.” _I like that you can hear what I’m thinking. I can be sweet to you without everyone making fun._ Steve kissed his temple.

“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” Sam asked, slipping an arm around Steve’s waist.

“Not really. I tell you most of what I’m thinking eventually anyway. It’s not like there’s anything I desperately don’t want you to find out.” He looked pointedly at Bucky.

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky growled.

Sam didn’t think he wanted to know what that was all about. “Well, if you’re sure. I need to get going, or I’m going to be late to work.” He stood up and went to grab his bag from where he’d left it in the living room. Steve followed him to the door.

Steve pulled him into his arms and smiled down at him. “I like having you here in the morning.” 

Sam smiled back at him. “Yeah, it’s nice. Would have been even nicer if you had actually been in bed when I woke up.”

Steve chuckled. “Sorry. Tomorrow. It’s your day off, right? We can stay in bed as late as you want and then I’ll make you waffles.” Sam looked at him skeptically, and Steve pretended to be offended. “What? I’m good at those! The waffle iron is basically foolproof.” _It won’t be like that time with the pancakes._

Sam laughed at the memory of the disaster that had been, then leaned up and kissed him. “Alright, I’ll let you make me waffles. Right now, though, I really do have to go.”

Steve nodded, and gave him one last kiss goodbye. “Have a good day, Sam.”

“You, too.” Sam got in the elevator and smiled to himself as the doors closed. Even though he hadn’t really wanted to end up at Steve’s, it would be nice to wake up next to someone again. And it’d probably be good for him to let his guard down a bit if he wanted this whole thing to continue. Steve had been patient with him so far, but he wasn’t actually a saint, no matter what the history books said about him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [onyourleft](http://onyourleft.tumblr.com) for helping me out with Cara and Sam's conversation. You're my hero!

Sam was attempting to put a dent in the backlog of paperwork that had accrued while he was off dealing with slimy space cows when Cara popped her head into his office, locs swinging around her shoulders.

“You got time to go grab some lunch?”

He double-checked his schedule. “Yeah, as long as we’re quick. I’ve got a group session at 1:30.”

“Perfect. The Thai place on Lexington, or the Caribbean place by the park?”

“Definitely Sisters. I stay craving that jerk chicken.”

They walked the few blocks to the restaurant and squeezed into a table by the window. Sam watched the foot traffic go by while Cara looked over the menu. He wasn’t sure why she bothered — it never changed — but she always checked anyway.

“That storm cloud that was following you around yesterday looks to be gone. Good day?” Cara asked after the waitress took their orders.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I guess. I think I got Julian all sorted out, so that’s something.”

He had spent the first part of his morning on the phone with the VA up in the Bronx, getting a schedule of their sessions and contact numbers for a couple of the counselors that he could pass on to Julian. Thankfully, Julian had agreed to let Sam give his contact information to the people there in return, and Marisol, the counselor Sam had spoken to, had promised to check in if he didn’t show up within the next couple of weeks.

He was thankful for the win. Even if Sam couldn’t work with him directly anymore, he had made sure Julian wasn’t going to disappear from the system. He knew he was still going to worry, but there was also a satisfaction that came with knowing he had done his best and that it looked like it was going to be enough, at least for the moment.

That was the thing about spending time with superheroes: they started to rub off on you, and not only in good ways. Sam had done enough therapy to know that he had a bit of a savior complex, but his was nothing compared to Steve’s. And when you spent a good chunk of your time with a person who held himself responsible for the entire weight of the world, it was easy to start believing you should be responsible for it too. It was good for him to remember that small things, like helping someone access resources they needed, could be just as important as destabilizing a Hydra base or fighting Doombots.

“Was I really that bad yesterday? Anyone I need to apologize to?” 

“Nah, you were aight. I just know you. I could tell something was on your mind.”

Sam wanted to laugh at that, but he wasn’t about to try to explain his new telepathy powers to Cara. It was no secret that he was Falcon, and he’d told Cara about plenty of previous missions, but this was probably too weird even for her.

“They’re fumigating my apartment building, so I had to crash at Steve’s,” he said by way of explanation.

“I would think that would put you in a good mood.” Cara wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Sam threw his straw wrapper at her. “Stop imagining us in bed together.”

Cara laughed. “Aw, come on! I’m not usually one to go for white boys — or most boys, for that matter — but even I can admit that boy is fine. And combine that with all that you’ve got going on over here, well, can you blame me?”

“Yes, yes I can. I can absolutely blame you for objectifying me and my boyfriend.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop. Or I’ll at least stop telling you about it.” She smiled wickedly, and Sam groaned. They were interrupted by the waitress bringing their food, but Cara didn’t drop the subject.

“Okay, in all seriousness, why was crashing with Steve enough to put you in such a bad mood? You’ve spent the night there before, haven’t you?”

Sam picked at his food. “Not exactly,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’? Y’all’ve been together for months now.”

Sam sighed and put his fork down. “I know, I know. I just...haven’t.” He shrugged, not really knowing what else to say.

“So what, you just finish doing whatever y’all do, say thanks, and leave? Every time?” She waited for him to nod. “And he hasn’t dropped you for the slab of beef next door yet?”

“Cara!”

“What? The guy’s hot, even if he does need someone to teach him about dry shampoo. And if you’re gonna leave him all alone in a cold bed every night, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had his long-lost best friend join him instead.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “They aren’t like that.”

“Uh-huh. I saw that old footage at the Smithsonian, Sam.”

“Really, they’re not. They might have been once — I don’t really know, they don’t talk about it — but kind of a lot has happened since then.” Sam had long since moved past any jealousy or fear of Steve leaving him for Bucky. They were close, sure, but he’d never had any reason to doubt Steve’s love for him. If anything, he worried that Steve loved him a little too much.

“So what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem! I just like my own space.” He turned his attention to his food and tried to ignore the weight of Cara’s stare. When he finally looked up, she was sitting with her arms crossed and a look that told him exactly how unimpressed she was.

“Okay, look. Steve is...Steve’s great. He’s a stubborn idiot, sure, but he also actually sincerely believes all the things he says in his dumbass speeches and he’s a lot smarter than most people give him credit for. And I love him. But if I start staying the night, that’ll turn into moving in. And he lives in goddamn Avengers Tower. That place is for superheroes, not regular humans.”

“You do remember that you’re also a superhero, right?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“I want it to be.” Sam tried to figure out how to explain it. “The rest of them, they never let themselves show weakness. The whole building’s like a giant shrine to stoicism. I don’t want to get sucked into that.”

“So why don’t you and Steve just get your own place?”

“And what, just leave Barnes behind? I’m not gonna make Steve choose between us.”

He took a bite of his lunch, feeling like bacteria under a microscope while Cara watched him, eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a lotta excuses, Wilson.”

“Reasons ain’t the same as excuses, Wesley.”

“If you say so.” She took a sip of her water, then had mercy on him. “Anyway, as much as I love the soap opera that is your superhero life, can we talk about me now?”

“Yes, please. Let’s do that. How’s your thesis coming?”

“Oh Lord, let’s go back to talking about your drama!”

Sam laughed, then finished his lunch while Cara talked about her thesis until it was time for them to walk back to work.

 

Sam had sessions back to back to back in the afternoon, draining him of his good mood from the morning, and then what should have been a fifteen minute subway ride turned into nearly an hour of being stuck on the train between the 86th and 59th Street stations for God only knows what reason. He really, really wished he was headed to the peace and quiet of his own apartment.

That desire only increased when he got back to Steve’s and found Bucky trimming his hair. In the kitchen. Shirtless.

“What the hell, man?” Sam ignored Bucky’s startled _oh shit, he’s home_ in favor of yelling at him. “In the kitchen!? That’s disgusting!” 

“What? I’m cutting it over the sink.” Bucky looked confused and must have gotten his thoughts back under control because Sam couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if he was just that much of a troll.

“The sink in the _kitchen._ Where we prepare _food_.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him and gestured toward the bags on the kitchen island in between them. “You mean where we pile takeout containers and pizza boxes on the counter?”

“You cooked breakfast in here this morning!”

“Not in the sink.” Bucky’s smug grin made it clear that he considered the argument won.

“Why not use the bathroom sink? You know, with the mirror so you could actually see what the hell you’re doing?”

There was a flash of something from Bucky’s mind, but it was gone before Sam could make out any words.

“I didn’t want to deprive you of all of this.” Bucky gestured at his shirtless chest. Sam pointedly kept his eyes on Bucky’s own and was about to explain just how much he did not want to see all of that when Steve interrupted them.

“You’re home!” Steve beamed at him. He was fresh from the shower, hair still damp and smelling of his peppermint shampoo. He wrapped Sam in a hug, and Sam breathed him in, a portion of the tension he’d been carrying all afternoon leaching out of him. _I was starting to worry about you._

“Sorry I’m late,” he said after giving Steve a quick kiss hello. “Got stuck on the train.”

“It happens.” Steve shrugged, then moved past him to open the bags of food. “What’d you get, Buck?” _He better not have forgotten my spring rolls._

Bucky had finished cutting his hair and pulled a shirt on while Sam was ignoring him in favor of greeting Steve. “I got you the Pad Thai. I know you can’t handle anything spicier than that.”

“Hey!” Steve protested.

“He has a point,” Sam teased, pulling containers out of the bags and opening them up. “Last time I thought the Masaman was gonna kill you.”

“Alright, fine. Did you at least —”

“Yes, I remembered the extra spring rolls,” Bucky answered before Steve could even finish the question. “And Sam, there’s red curry in there, too.”

Sam paused, hand hovering over one of the boxes. “There’s what?”

“Red curry.” Bucky nodded towards the food, eyes down as he fished in a drawer for silverware.

Sam found the right box and opened it, sniffing suspiciously. “What did you do to it?”

Bucky looked up, perplexed. “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything to it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Sam was unconvinced. He shoved the box toward Steve. “Steve, what’s wrong with it? You have better senses than me.”

Steve looked confused, and maybe a little hurt. “It seems fine to me.” _Why is he making such a big deal about this? Bucky wouldn’t mess with his food._

“Yeah right, Barnes wouldn’t mess with my food!” He sniffed at it again, eyeing Bucky over the edge of the box.

“Oh my god, I didn’t fuck with your food!” _I was just trying to do something nice for—_ Bucky’s thoughts cut off as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He held his breath for a moment, then exhaled. “I wanted Thai food. I remembered that you liked the red curry, so I ordered some of that too. If it freaks you out so much, I won’t do it again.”

Bucky grabbed his plate of food and stalked off to his room, slamming the door behind him. Sam watched him go, mouth hanging open. When he turned back, Steve had his arms crossed and didn’t look happy.

_Not cool, Sam._

“What? He fucks with me all the time — of course I’m suspicious!”

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _If they don’t pull their heads out of their asses…_ “Bucky hasn’t _actually_ fucked with you in a long time. And it’s not like you don’t give it right back.”

“Okay, yeah, I do. But that’s what we do. We’ve always been like that.”

“Because that’s how _you_ set the tone at the beginning.”

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault we don’t get along?” Sam could feel the anger welling up inside him, the accusation mixing with the banked resentment from the stress of the day, and really the past few weeks.

_That’s not what I said!_ Steve’s internal voice was snappish, but when he spoke, his words were measured. “No, not entirely. But you’ve pushed him away since the very beginning. Which I understand.” Steve put his hands up, cutting off Sam’s protest before he could make it. “You had no reason to trust him then. But you’ve trusted him on missions for months now, and I had kinda hoped you would _both_ be able to get along by now. And from where I stand, he looks like he’s trying.”

“Yeah, you would see it that way.” Sam could tell his tone hurt Steve, but he was too annoyed to care at the moment.

_That’s not fair._ “I’m not saying you have to be best friends with him. But you could at least not antagonize him.”

“I’ll stop antagonizing him when he stops antagonizing me.” Sam took the apparently perfectly fine red curry and stalked into the living room, leaving Steve behind in the kitchen. God, he just wanted to be alone in his own home, away from all this bullshit. He turned the TV on, the volume loud enough to prevent any more conversation.

A few minutes later, Steve joined him, sitting carefully at the other end of the couch. Sam kept his focus on the screen, pointedly ignoring the thoughts and emotions coming from Steve.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bit of delay - mental health things and end of the school year things got in the way. But I really like this one, so I hope you do too :)

Sam woke up the next morning feeling groggy and sluggish. He hadn’t spoken to Steve for the rest of the evening, but he had stayed awake stewing in his frustration and unable to forget the things Steve had said. He’d eventually had to admit to himself that he’d probably overreacted; it really had been a long time since he and Bucky had done much more than snark at each other. 

He rolled over to find Steve awake next to him. _Wasn’t sure...you’d want...but I did promise...be here...morning._

Apparently the telepathic bond was beginning to fade, some of the individual words no longer coming through, but it was still enough for Sam to understand what Steve meant. He reached over and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, running it down his arm and then tangling their fingers together. “Yeah, you did. Thanks.” He tugged Steve’s hand towards him, kissing the back of it. “And sorry.”

Steve shrugged. “You’d had a rough day. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Sam sighed. But he had meant it. He’d been a dick to Steve because he was in a bad mood and now Steve was just going to let him off the hook, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. And it wasn’t like he exactly minded being let off the hook, but it made some small part of him want to keep pushing, to see what exactly it would take to make Steve actually get angry with him. He knew Steve had it in him — he’d seen what the guy could do to punching bags when he lost his temper — but he’d never been on the receiving end.

He felt dumb for _wanting_ Steve to be mad, but what exactly were they doing if Steve was just going to let him get away with everything?

“You’re frustrated,” Steve said, cupping his face gently. Sam could feel the concern emanating from him.

“No. Yeah. I don’t know.” Sam should probably try to tell Steve what was going on in his head, but he didn’t think he could even if he wanted to.

Steve studied him for a moment more, then leaned in and kissed him. He wrinkled his nose. “Go brush your teeth. And take a shower. I’ll get the waffles started.”

“Rude!” Sam threw a pillow after Steve as he walked toward the door. Steve just tossed it back at him and continued on into the kitchen, laughing the whole way.

Sam rolled over, looked at the bathroom door, and groaned. He didn’t really think he had the energy for a shower and almost considered skipping it, but managed to drag himself out of bed after realizing that he really did need it. As always, once he was in the shower, it felt amazing, and that, combined with the seemingly unlimited supply of hot water, meant that he ended up having to do almost as much work convincing himself to get out. He pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, then tugged the pants back off and found a pair that weren’t intended for Steve’s tiny ass. 

Once he had on clothes that fit, he padded into the kitchen to join Steve. He heard movement in Bucky’s room as he passed, so after pouring himself a cup of coffee, he poured one for Bucky too. A peace offering.

Bucky was shirtless again when he entered, the fresh haircut not doing much to tame his rumpled bedhead. He hadn’t shaved and had bags under his eyes; it looked like he wasn’t feeling much better than Sam was this morning. Sam slid the mug of coffee across the counter toward him.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, took the mug, and sniffed the coffee pointedly.

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that,” Sam admitted, hands up in an appeasing gesture. “But it’s safe, I promise. Just ask Steve — he was watching me the whole time.”

“I was,” Steve agreed.

“Okay.” Bucky took a sip of the coffee, then smiled that small, private smile he had when something surprised him in a good way. He looked up from the mug to Sam, smile broadening. “Thanks.”

Sam couldn’t tell what his emotions were doing, and he hoped Steve and Bucky were just as clueless. “Sure. No problem.”

They ate their waffles and drank their coffee in the kitchen, surrounded by the bright sunlight streaming through the large windows of the Tower. It was the peaceful kind of morning Sam usually loved, but for some reason everything felt like sandpaper rubbing up against him, from the too-bright sun to the sticky syrup on his fingers to the quiet sounds of all of them chewing to the overheard snippets of Steve’s plans for the day.

Sam spoke to distract himself from the feeling. “I forgot you were leaving for that training exercise today.”

“Yeah, I would have tried to get out of it since you’re here, but Nick’s had it on the calendar for weeks now. Planning around Miles and Kamala’s school schedules hasn’t been his favorite thing.” Steve finished the last bite of his waffle and stood up from the table.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ve got plenty of ways to occupy myself.” Sam tilted his face up to accept a kiss from Steve, then watched him walk over and put his dishes in the sink.

“Ugh, gross,” Bucky complained. “Turn down the lust, will ya? I don’t wanna feel that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam said innocently, getting up and pinning Steve against the counter. “Is it making you uncomfortable? We wouldn’t want that.” Sam kissed Steve then, sloppily and noisily, doing his best to amplify just how much he was enjoying it.

Steve broke the kiss first. “As nice as that was, I don’t really appreciate being used like that.” The bond between them made it obvious that while Steve _thought_ he shouldn’t like it, he actually kind of did. Which was an interesting thing Sam would need to remember to revisit at a later date.

Steve looked back and forth between him and Bucky. “Are you sure you two will be okay without me here to play referee?” _Get along_ is all Sam got in words, but he could feel the wistful hope emanating from Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine. Now get out of here.” 

Sam and Bucky orbited around each other cautiously for the rest of the day. Sam had originally planned to spend his day off out in the city, running a few errands and maybe doing some shopping or catching a movie, but he got sucked into his phone and then decided to watch an episode or two of _Black Sails_ and before he knew it, it was almost time for dinner and he had never even gotten dressed.

He sighed, frustrated that he had wasted the day, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He only had a few episodes left in season 2, so he ate cold leftover Thai food straight out of the container, finished the season, and went to bed.

 

It took Sam a second to figure out why he was awake before he realized that it was because of the screaming in his head.

The words weren’t coming through clearly enough for him to understand — and he suspected they wouldn’t be in English anyway — but the emotions were coming at him full force, wave after wave of fear and anguish hitting him and dragging him under. He felt like he could barely even breathe.

He stumbled out of bed and down the hall to Bucky’s room, opening the door. Light from the window was spilling across the bed, highlighting Bucky’s motionless form. If it wasn’t for the continued agony in his head, he wouldn’t be able to tell anything was amiss.

“Barnes,” he said, unsure of the best way to wake him up. He tried calling his name a little louder, but Bucky’s distress didn’t abate.

Sam stepped forward and gripped Bucky’s shoulder, bracing himself for the reaction. The metal hand came up immediately and grabbed his wrist. Bucky was sitting up in his bed, eyes wide, but unseeing; his mind was a mix of confusion and adrenaline and the lingering acrid fear.

“It’s just me, Bucky. It’s just Sam.” He tried to keep his voice from wavering, and mostly succeeded in spite of his own fear now mixed in with Bucky’s. “You’re in your room in the Tower. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Bucky’s eyes shifted to him. “Sam?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Just breathe for a minute.”

Bucky did, but his hand was still clamped around Sam’s wrist like a vice. Sam felt Bucky’s panic ebb and be replaced by a mix of exhaustion, shame, and resignation. The shame spiked when he realized he was still holding onto Sam.

“Oh shit, sorry.” He let go like he’d been burned.

Sam rubbed his wrist; he could tell it was going to bruise. “Nah, man, don’t sweat it. I startled you.”

Bucky’s mouth twisted and he bit the inside of his cheek. “Still. You should put some ice on that.”

Sam stood up and headed toward the door. The roil of emotions from Bucky followed him, along with some choice words that Sam assumed weren’t aimed at him. He turned back. Bucky was sitting on the bed with his knees pulled up and his head in his hands.

“Come with me. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t like tea.”

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to aim his exasperation in Bucky’s direction. He didn’t think this whole thing worked like that, but it was worth a shot.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just saying that cause it’s me offering.” Bucky shook his head and rubbed his face with his hands. Sam took pity on him. “Hot chocolate, then.”

Bucky looked up at him suspiciously. Sam wondered just how much of his emotions Bucky was still able to read. “Why?”

“Because nightmares fucking suck. And I don’t want to have to wallow in your self-loathing all night.” The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked at that. “Just come on, man. We can go back to hating each other in the morning.”

He turned and headed toward the kitchen, assuming Bucky would follow. 

“I don’t hate you, Sam.” It might have been Bucky’s voice or Bucky’s thoughts; Sam wasn’t sure so he chose not to acknowledge it. He resolutely ignored the fact that it had been a while since thoughts that quiet had come through clearly.

Bucky came into the kitchen a few minutes later, now with a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, big enough that it trailed behind him on the floor. It made him look unbearably young, and Sam’s heart twisted.

He turned back to the stove and focused on making their hot chocolate. He made it the way his mom had taught him, and the familiar rhythm was soothing. Bucky’s emotions were fading as he regained some control, and a part of Sam hoped his own calm feelings were somewhat helpful.

He poured the hot chocolate into two mugs and passed one over to Bucky, who handed him an ice pack in return. They sat in silence for a while, sipping carefully at the drinks as they cooled.

“I don’t like mirrors.” Bucky’s voice was soft, and for a moment Sam wasn’t sure if he had actually spoken or if his control over his mental voice had slipped again.

“Hmm?”

“That’s why I was cutting my hair in the kitchen instead of the bathroom. I don’t...mirrors are…” He cleared his throat. “Mirrors are hard.”

“Yeah, I bet. I mean, I have to look at your face all the time. It’s no picnic.” He smiled, trusting Bucky would be able to sense that he was only teasing. Bucky huffed a small laugh and attempted to smile back.

Sam looked at Bucky from across the counter and waited. Bucky was hunched over his mug, hands curled around it protectively, as though he were trying to keep the warmth from escaping.

“There’s a version of me in my head. It’s not the same as the one in Steve’s head, and it’s not the guy I was before the war. And when I look in the mirror, it’s not him either.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Looking at it...it makes me feel…”

“Fragmented?” Sam suggested.

“Maybe. Maybe more...insubstantial? Like I’m just some sort of figment of my own imagination instead of a real person.” Bucky sat up straight and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, listen to me. I need some fucking sleep.”

“Nah, I think I get what you mean. You ever think about doing something to make what’s in the mirror match up more with what’s in your head?”

Bucky looked confused. “Like what, piercing my lip like the girl Natasha’s always flirting with?”

Sam shrugged. “Sure. Or your nose, or your eyebrow, or whatever. Dye your hair blue. Shave your head. Get a tattoo. Just something that could make you feel more in control.”

“Huh.” Bucky swirled the last of his hot chocolate around in his mug. “That’s not a bad idea. I guess I can see why Steve might keep you around; lord knows he needs someone smart to look out for his dumb ass.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I’m definitely the brains of the operation.”

“And Steve’s the brawn. Too bad you’re both too ugly to provide the beauty.” Bucky’s smile actually reached his eyes this time.

“Oh, fuck you, asshole. I’m plenty beautiful.” Sam tossed the ice pack at him, which he easily batted away. “See if I ever make you hot chocolate again.”

Sam finished the last swallow, rinsed his mug out, and put it in the dishwasher. He picked the ice pack up off the floor and put it back in the freezer, then yawned and stretched. There was a spike of something from Bucky, but it disappeared quickly beneath his control.

“I’m going back to bed.” He was almost out of the kitchen when Bucky’s voice trailed after him.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Sam paused in the doorway, and looked back over his shoulder. “No problem, Bucky.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning everything finally caught up to him — the last few missions, the stress at work, the lack of sleep, the unrooted feeling from not being in his own place — and he didn’t have the willpower to drag himself out of bed. Looking back on the day before, he really should have seen this coming. He texted Cara to let her know he wouldn’t be coming into work and tried to sleep, but every time he managed even a doze he was bombarded with images of smoke and bodies falling and fluorescent lights that never turned off. 

He gave up on sleep and just stared at the wall instead. A mug of tea and some toast appeared on his bedside table, but they remained untouched and eventually turned cold.

Steve came home at some point, all eager excitement and plans for dinner, but his feelings quickly turned to worry. He sat on the edge of the bed in the dark room and frowned at the dishes on the nightstand, then leaned over to place a gentle hand on Sam’s forehead where it peeked out from under the blankets.

“You sick, baby?”

Sam just shook his head and burrowed deeper into his pillow, away from Steve’s hand. It hovered over him, Steve’s uncertainty and fear accompanying it.

“What do you need? What can I do?” He was so earnest and a wave a guilt crashed over Sam and then receded, leaving behind the numbness that had plagued him all day. He somehow managed to find his voice.

“Nothing. I’m...I’ll be fine.”

Steve’s hand landed hesitantly on his shoulder, separated from his skin by layers of blankets. “Are you sure? Have you eaten anything?”

“I’m sure. Just...can you go worry somewhere else?” He added a “please” as an afterthought, but he didn’t think it did much to soften his request; he was now feeling Steve’s hurt on top of everything else.

“Yeah, sure. If that’s what you need.” Sam felt the bed shift as Steve stood up and heard the clink of the dishes as Steve gathered them. “Let me know if I can help? Send a text or something if you don’t want to talk?”

Sam grunted in response, and apparently that was enough because Steve turned and went. His emotions faded some when he left the room, but not completely. They intensified again after a few minutes and Sam could tell he was hovering outside the door, or at least close by.

There were muted voices outside the room and Steve’s frustration spiked, then turned to resignation. The emotions weakened again, then he heard the front door open and close and they faded away completely.

He rolled over onto his back and drifted for a while more, alone and numb in the dark, hating that this was happening. He knew he shouldn’t blame himself, that it wouldn’t help, but he was letting people down. His group was expecting him and he’d been planning to check in with Julian again and he was so behind on his paperwork. And now he’d hurt Steve. Again. He grabbed a pillow, shoved it into his face, and let out a muffled scream.

The door opened, letting in a shaft of light from the hallway. He dropped the pillow and groaned at the ceiling.

“Just me,” Bucky said softly. “I sent Steve down to the gym for a bit.”

Sam didn’t respond. Bucky came over and set another cup of tea and plate of toast on the nightstand.

“He’ll worry less if you’ve had something to eat and drink when he gets back.” Bucky shifted some of the clothes on the chair in the corner and perched on the edge of the seat. “I added some of your fancy honey to the tea and used Natasha’s jam.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that. “She might kill you for that, you know.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ll take the risk.”

Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position so he could take a sip of the tea. The scent was soothing and the warm liquid felt good on his dry throat. He looked over at Bucky.

“You staying?”

Bucky shrugged again. “It’s up to you.”

Sam brought the plate of toast over to his lap and studied it. Bucky had spread the jam nice and thick over a layer of butter, just the way Sam liked it. He picked up a piece and took a bite, and Bucky settled back into the chair.

He ate slowly, taking sips of tea in between each bite. The toast didn’t sit well in his stomach, despite how good it tasted. He found himself sneaking glances at Bucky, who was just sitting there, watching him eat, occasionally looking around the room. His hair was pulled back in a bun and he was wearing an old, worn-out pair of Steve’s sweatpants. His presence was...calming. Why was his presence calming? Why was _his_ presence calming when Steve’s hadn’t been? Why did Sam look at him and think “soft”?

“Stop thinking so hard.”

Sam panicked. “Can you hear me?”

“Nah.” Bucky shook his head. “I only ever got emotions, remember?”

Sam sighed, a mixture of relief and embarrassment pooling in his gut. He looked down at the last few bites of toast. “I don’t think I can — I think I’m done.”

Bucky stood up and came over to the bed. Sam held out the plate to him and Bucky took it, the cool fingers of his metal hand brushing against his skin. Sam shivered.

“Sorry,” Bucky said.

Sam shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

Bucky paused, but when Sam didn’t say anything else he took the plate and mug and headed toward the door.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” The corners of Bucky’s mouth quirked up into a small, pleased smile.

“What?”

“I just...I like that you’ve started using my first name.” Sam thought maybe Bucky was blushing, but it was hard to tell in the dimness of the room. He wasn’t sure what to do with that, but Bucky spoke before he could respond.

“Get some rest, Sam.” Bucky left the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Sam in the dark. Sam curled up on his side and pulled the blankets up under his chin. He closed his eyes and finally drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

Sam woke up when Steve slipped into bed next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said softly.

Sam rolled over and pulled Steve into him, resting his chin on the top of Steve’s head. “Don’t be. If you were that worried about me, I guess you really do care.”

“Sam.” Steve pulled back, looking serious, the worry surging in him again, this time with an edge of desperation to it. “Of course I care. I _love_ you.”

Sam cupped Steve’s face and stroked a thumb across his cheekbone. “I know, baby. I do. Don’t listen to me right now.” He really couldn’t stop fucking up today.

Steve turned and kissed his palm, then took Sam’s hand into his own, tracing his fingertips over Sam’s knuckles.

“I wish I could help.”

Sam sighed, recognizing the restless, helpless feeling in Steve all too well. “I know you do. But this isn’t something you can punch.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Their emotions swirled between them and Sam was worried that his own dark cloud would drag Steve down with him.

“Bucky said you ate?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

Steve gave him a small smile. “So he helped?” Sam could feel Steve’s hope rising in him, tentative and wistful.

Sam groaned and rolled onto his back. “Ugh, yes, fine — he helped. I guess he’s not completely terrible all the time.”

“You know what I think?” Steve asked, resting his chin on Sam’s chest, smiling widely with that gleam in his eye that always told Sam he was about to go into little shit mode.

“What do you think?”

“ _I_ think you’ve never really thought Bucky was terrible at all. _I_ think you actually like him. In fact, I think maybe you like him almost as much as you like me.”

“You’re delusional, Rogers.”

Steve just laughed at him. “Do you know that you start using people’s last names when you’re feeling defensive, or is that unconscious?”

Sam grabbed one of the pillows and smacked Steve in the face with it. “Shut up and let me sleep, asshole.”

“Alright, alright.” They settled under the covers and Steve tangled their hands together again in between them. “I wouldn’t mind, you know. If you liked him too. You could have that, if you wanted it.”

“Steve,” Sam looked up at him, concerned, but Steve was calm and happy, not a hint of jealousy or resentment in him. He traced Sam’s jaw with a fingertip, his touch soothing and uncomplicated. Steve’s voice was soft when he spoke again, and there was a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

“Just wanted you to know. Just in case.”

Sam didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded, leaned in, and kissed him, then closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

 

Sam was relieved when he felt much better in the morning. He never knew how long these slumps were going to last, and he was thankful this appeared to be a short one. His mood improved even more when he checked his messages and found out he had the all-clear to head back to his apartment.

He was in the bathroom packing his toiletry bag when Steve came up and leaned on the doorframe.

“What’s this?”

Sam continued packing. “Just heard from the landlord — the building’s open again, so I can go home.”

He felt a flash of hurt and saw Steve’s face fall. He shook his head.

“Steve, don’t look at me like that.”

“I just — this has been good, hasn’t it? I mean, I know yesterday was rough, but the rest of it? Did you really hate being here that much?”

“It isn’t that. I just like having my own space. Am I not allowed to want that?” His voice was harsh, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He threw his toiletry bag into his suitcase and dragged everything out to the kitchen.

Steve followed him and started to say something, then stopped. He looked at Sam, brow furrowed, then cocked his head. “You’re afraid. I can feel it. What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know!” Sam blurted out, louder than he intended, a dam inside finally cracking under the strain and letting loose the flood of things he usually held in. “A lot of things! Of how much I care about you. Of the way you look at me sometimes, like I’m the only thing keeping you going. Of what people will say when they find out Captain America’s dating a black man.”

“I don’t care about what people—” Sam cut him off before he could continue.

“Well, I do. Cause a lot of it’s gonna be ugly and I’m the one who’s gonna get the worst of it. They’ll be waiting for me to screw up, to do something they can use to tear me down. People won’t care about the rest of me, about who I really am. I want to be Sam, the guy who works at the VA and has some really badass wings and still has bad days sometimes, not Captain America’s black boyfriend.”

“Are you...do you…” Steve swallowed, then picked his head up and squared his shoulders. “Do you not want to be with me anymore?”

Sam released a frustrated groan and tightened his grip on the edge of the kitchen counter. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just — that’s not even — I could deal with the public part of things if...” He trailed off, not sure if he should continue that thought.

“If what?”

He couldn’t look at Steve and stared down at the counter instead. “If I didn’t feel like I had to have everything together all the time around you, too.”

“I make you feel that way?”

He felt the hurt in Steve’s voice and forced himself to look up. “I don’t think you do it on purpose. But you’ve got me up on a pedestal, and that’s a hard place to be, Steve.”

“I don’t have you on a pedestal,” Steve protested. “I know—”

“You kinda do.” Steve looked at Bucky, surprised at the interjection. Sam wasn’t even sure when he’d joined them. Bucky just shrugged. “What? I’m half in love with him just from listening to you talk about how amazing he is all the time.”

“See? Wait…” Sam realized what Bucky had said. “You’re in love with me?”

Bucky looked panicked. “Uh, no? I just meant — it’s an expression. I didn’t mean —”

“Fucking hell, are you seriously doing this?” Steve interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Bucky and Sam both turned to him.

“You two have been dancing around each other for _months_ and you’re still gonna try to pretend there’s nothing here? Bucky, come on. Let the guard down. He deserves to know.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Yeah, yeah, okay.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. As he did, it was like a curtain opened and all of Bucky’s emotions poured through like beams of sunlight.

Sam gasped. Bucky’s respect and concern and admiration and _love_ were so strong that Sam almost believed he could reach out and touch them. He stared at Bucky, open-mouthed, trying to take it all in.

Bucky looked hopeful, but the longer they stood there with Sam not saying anything, the more it faded into sadness. “It’s okay if you don’t — I mean, I get why you wouldn’t —”

Before he could say anything else, Sam stepped toward him, grabbed his face in his hands and kissed him. Bucky made a muffled noise of surprise, then melted into the kiss, lips parting with a soft sigh. Sam threaded his left hand through Bucky’s hair, reaching around to grasp the back of his neck, while the other drifted down his chest and came to rest over his heart. Bucky had his hands on Sam’s waist, the tight grip of his fingers a stark contrast to the softness of the kiss.

They finally parted when Steve started clapping next to them. “It’s about damn time.”

Sam stepped back, out of Bucky’s arms, and looked over at Steve. He cleared his throat. “Um, are you — is this — are you —”

“Am I jealous?” Steve asked. Sam nodded, a sinking feeling in his gut. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening with Bucky right now, but he knew he loved Steve.

“I told you before, didn’t I? You can have this if you want it; I saw it coming a long time ago. We can work out all the details later, but really, I’m fine. I hear this is just another one of those crazy things people do in the 21st century.” Steve gave him a half smile and took one of his hands. “Could have had better timing, though. You were trying to tell me something?”

Sam took a deep breath and tried to remember what they’d been talking about before he’d kissed his boyfriend’s best friend. “Look, you told me that I saw you. That I made you feel real. I need you to do the same for me.”

“I do see you,” Steve insisted. “You’re amazing and —”

“I’m not perfect, Steve. I have days like yesterday, sometimes weeks like yesterday. I still wake up screaming from nightmares sometimes. I get cranky when I have to be away from home for too long on a mission, and I can be just as stubborn and reckless as you are. And I need to know that you see that, because otherwise I’m always gonna be worried that when you _do_ see it, you’ll leave.”

Steve stepped closer, and Bucky shifted away to give them space. Sam could feel Bucky’s encouragement and support coming through the last remnants of the telepathic link.

Steve brought his hands up to Sam’s face slowly, giving him time to pull away. “I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to prove yourself to me. You did that a long time ago.”

Sam started to shake his head, but Steve wouldn’t let him slip away. “No, listen. I don’t think you’re amazing because you don’t have flaws or bad days. I know that you have just as much shit to deal with as anyone. But you deal with it. You don’t ignore it or shove it down or let it turn into bitterness or anger. _That’s_ what amazes me.”

Sam blinked quickly to try to dispel the tears that were welling up. Steve’s thumb brushed softly across his cheekbone. Steve cleared his throat. “You know that I’m not...I’m not good at...feelings.”

Bucky snorted from the other side of the kitchen, and Steve dropped his hands and rolled his eyes. “Oh, like you’re any better!”

“I am not _nearly_ as self-sacrificing and repressed as you are.”

“How long did it take you to admit to Sam that you loved him, exactly?”

“Okay, okay,” Sam interjected before they could get too much further into that particular discussion. “What were you trying to say?”

Steve turned his attention back to Sam. “I don’t...I don’t like feeling weak, or, or like I need help. It’s always been easier to just...throw myself into other things and ignore the pain. It seemed better than becoming mean, at least. But then I met you. And you don’t do either of those things. You take your hurt and you face it and you somehow turn it into kindness and I don’t know how you do it because it’s _terrifying_ to me but you just keep doing it and it’s _amazing_ and sometimes I think that you don’t realize how amazing you really are.”

Sam had given up any hope of stopping his tears about halfway through Steve’s speech. Bucky sidled up next to him and handed him a handkerchief, because of course Bucky had a handkerchief.

“So I promise, Sam, if you move in with me, or well, us, I guess, I promise that I’m not going to kick you out because you have a nightmare or need to stay in bed all day or snap at me for doing something dumb or leave bottles of lotion all over the bathroom counter or whatever it is you think will make me leave.”

Sam gave a watery laugh at that. “I can’t just decide to move in.”

“If you need time, that’s —” Steve started, but Bucky interrupted him.

“Why not?”

Sam looked over at him. “What do you mean why not? I have a lease. And furniture. And people don’t just decide to move in with each other in an afternoon.”

Bucky started ticking things off on his fingers. “First, we’ve got decades’ worth of back pay; I think we can afford to break your lease. Second, it’s not like we don’t have space for your furniture here. Bring whatever you want. And who cares what the fuck other people do? We want you here. If you want to be here, and I think you do, there’s no reason for you to not be here.”

“I just...I can’t.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, he’s right. I think at this point you’re just saying no out of habit.”

“That’s ridiculous, Steve.”

“Is it? You’ve had this list of reasons you’ve been keeping in your head for so long, and I’m not saying that some of the things you’re worried about aren’t important or that we don’t need to deal with them, but they’re also the kind of things that people deal with all the time. And I’m pretty sure we addressed the biggest problem a few minutes ago. So what’s stopping you?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Steve continued.

“I see _you_ ; we both do. The telepathic bond is almost gone, so that problem is solved. You and Bucky love each other and are actually aware of it now, so that problem is solved too. The only thing left is fear, and the Sam Wilson I know doesn’t let fear stop him from going after what he wants.”

Sam probably should have responded with something that showed he was taking all of this very seriously, but he turned to Bucky instead. “Did he always do that? The big heroic speech thing? Cause really, it sounds like he wrote a script.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, he kind of did. It got him punched a lot.”

“I bet,” Sam answered, joining in on the laughter.

Steve bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m seriously going to regret making you two deal with your feelings, aren’t I?”

“If I’m going to live here, then probably, yeah.”

Steve looked up, his smile wide and hopeful. “If you’re going to live here?”

Sam saw the obvious joy on his face and swallowed down the last of his fear. Steve was right — that’s all it really was. All the excuses he’d been making, the ones he’d given Cara — and she’d called him out on it too —that had been the fear talking. And he wasn’t going to let himself become someone controlled by fear. If Steve could lay all his cards out on the table, so could he. Sam stepped forward and Steve’s arms came up to encircle his waist.

“On one condition.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I am gonna need at least half the counter space in the bathroom. I don’t have any super-soldier serum helping me look this good.”

Steve laughed, and leaned his forehead against Sam’s.

“Deal,” he said, then kissed Sam within an inch of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! Look for an epilogue in the next couple of days, but this is it for the fic proper.
> 
> Thanks again to ZepysGirl for bidding on me in the Fandom Trumps Hate auction - I hope you feel like you got your money's worth :)


	6. Epilogue

“So let me get this straight.” Cara was leaned back in the chair across his desk, arms folded in front of her, eyebrow raised in incredulity.

“In the, like, three days since I’ve seen you, you’ve not only gotten yourself another white super-soldier boyfriend, but it’s the same white boy who tried to kill you multiple times. And on top of that, you’ve decided to move in with your two white boyfriends. Who live together, but aren’t together-together. In Avengers Tower.”

“Um, yes?” Sam replied, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“And you think this is a _good_ idea?”

Sam thought about the three of them spending the whole day in yesterday, after Sam finally agreed to move. He thought about serious conversations made easier by the closeness between them as they cuddled on the couch. He thought about making dinner together, about gentle teasing and glancing touches as they moved around the kitchen. He thought about long, slow, exploratory kisses in the hallway with Bucky and deep, wet, feverish kisses in bed with Steve.

He smiled broadly at Cara and shrugged. “Yeah, actually. I think it’s a _great_ idea.”

His phone beeped with a mission alert, and he stood to gather his things. “As much as I’d love to stay and let you hassle me a bit more, duty calls. Apparently there are some strange portals and giant sentient space squids threatening Coney Island.”

Cara just laughed and shook her head as she followed him out of his office. “Your life, man.”

He got to the curb just as Bucky and Steve pulled up on their motorcycles. He took the helmet Bucky offered him and climbed on behind him, winding his arms around his waist and giving the back of his neck a kiss hello. Bucky squeezed his hands in return. Steve smiled over at them, helmetless as usual like the idiot he was, then drove off. They had tourists to protect and space squids to punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Come say hi [on tumblr](http://i-will-not-be-caged.tumblr.com)!


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